


Our Song of Ice and Fire

by Longdays



Series: Our Song of Ice and Fire [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-11 19:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12942309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longdays/pseuds/Longdays
Summary: As their ship approaches White Harbor Jon and Daenerys have to face the reality of war, the hope for a new dawn, and the difficutlies of love against such terrible odds.Picks up shortly after season 7 ended.





	1. Last Chance

Jon didn't want to wake up. The bed was warm, the ship rocked gently as it cut across the sea, and when he breathed in he could smell his queen’s perfume on the pillow. No, waking up and getting out of this bed was not something to look forward to. But, gods, did he have to piss. Maybe he could sleep for just a few more minutes.

He couldn’t say what happened first. If it was his eyelids flying open, the moan that tore from his throat, or the sudden realization that he wasn’t about to piss himself. He was about to cum. 

His senses rushed him with an overwhelming amount of information. He saw the early morning light shimmering on the top of daenerys’ head, as she made love to him with her mouth, her eyes closed in concentration. He heard the water beating against the hull of the ship as well as the small noises her mouth made as she sucked and licked at his cock. He felt… everything. Her mouth was warm, it was wet, and it was pulling at him so perfectly. He wondered quickly if it was possible to suck a man’s soul out through their cock, certainly if anyone could it would be her. 

“Dany! Daenerys, I’m going to…I- I’m about to-” that was as much as Jon could manage to stammer out as he grabbed the side of her head to try and lift her mouth off of him, but at the sound of his voice Daenerys opened her eyes and fixed them on his. Her eyes, and the way she increased the suction around him at just that moment, sent him flying off the edge of the cliff. His orgasm overwhelmed him, forced all the air from his lungs in a soundless cry as his seed emptied into her mouth. Still she pulled at him. Still her eyes bore into his. He thought his ecstasy would never end, seemed to go on for ages, though it couldn’t have been near even a minute. He had never cum so furiously in all his life. His fingers curled in her hair as she milked every drop from within him. Swallowed him down.

When his balls stopped pulsating, cradled in her delicate palm, and he was able to take a breath in he tried to force his mouth to work. He needed to form the words, to apologize for such a thing. In her mouth! Gods help him, how could he do that into her mouth? She transfixed him, never broke eye contact as she pulled him from her mouth with a loud pop sound that was so lewd and wicked it made his cock jump in her hand. His hands fell away from her silken hair and flopped uselessly beside him. Jon didn't know if he would have control over any of his limbs ever again, so boneless did they feel at that moment. She smiled then. A small one, a bit more smirk than smile actually. Seven hells but she was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever laid eyes on. 

Daenerys stood from the bed and stretched languidly, knowing his gaze roamed her body, before walking to the sideboard and pouring herself some wine. After a sip she put on the robe that had lain across the chair next to her bed, but left open the ties. She sat and stretched her legs across the small empty space and let them rest on the bed next to him, her small ankles crossing to let one leg rest across the other. Her robe hung open, barely kept from falling wide open by her breasts. Jon knew it was taut, pink nipples under the silk that kept the material as it was. Her smooth legs were bare to him, but her positioning kept him from seeing the gold mine between her thighs. Tasting her there was Jon’s new favorite hobby. As she raised the glass to her mouth again she spoke rather nonchalantly, breaking his trance as he mixed the memories of her taste with the new memories from just a few moments ago,

“Good morning Jon. Did you sleep well?”

He stared at her dumbfounded. By the time she swallowed her wine and placed it back down she was smiling truly. Her toes tickled his side and Dany laughed as he squirmed away. Jon rolled toward her, reached across to grab her hands and pulled her atop him on the bed.

“Are you laughing at me woman?” he asked as she squealed from his surprise attack, containing her within one arm while his other hand launched a tickle offensive of his own against her ribs. “Aye, I slept well. But I was given a good reason to end my slumber.”

“Stop!” she shrieked in the midst of her laughter. “I yield! I yield!” 

He stopped his torture, and began stroking her back as she caught her breath. Moving the hair away from in front of her eyes he couldn't help himself but to pull her down to him and capture her mouth with his. This new onslaught caught her off guard, but as she did in most other things Daenerys quickly found her footing and overtook her opponent. His mouth opened to her tongue’s insistence. Jon could taste the wine she had drunk, but an unfamiliar taste as well. It was himself he was tasting, and though the thought of such a thing would have once disturbed him he now found it hardened him instead. 

Theon had bragged to him once after he payed a visit to one of the big brothels on a trip to White Harbor. Well, Theon bragged every time he visited a brothel, but this one instance quickly came to mind. Said he had found the whore whose spit jar was fullest, and paid her to suck him off instead of fuck him. Theon had said she was certainly worth the coin, referred to her as Lady Suckworth to anyone who would listen for the next fortnight. Jon had always assumed all women who did that type of thing spit it out when the deed was done. He had never found out for himself. Ygritte had never tried her mouth on him. She probably would have punched him in the stones if he’d even suggested it. He certainly never imagined his dragon queen would want to do that at all. But she had done so a few times now, in this fortnight they had spent together sailing north. This morning was different though, never before had he finished with her head still between his legs. Usually her mouth on him led to his mouth on her and before either of them had found their release they would be tangled in each other and making love in more positions than he could have imagined. But it seemed she wanted everything to transpire just as it had this morning. 

The memory of it had Jon panting and grinding himself against her thigh, even though it was just a few minutes since he had spent himself fully. He was ready again. He would always be ready for more with her. 

“Mmmm,” Daenerys moaned into his mouth as she tried to break their kiss. She was still trying to talk but Jon wasn’t stopping his worship of her lips and tongue, so whatever she was trying to say sounded a muffled, jumbled mess. She got a good nip on his tongue and he relented.

“As I was saying,” she began once they had a few inches of separation, “our war council will be expecting us soon. And I desperately need to bathe. Much as I love the scents our lovemaking leaves on me I don’t imagine Davos or Tyrion would be as appreciative of them when they have to sit in that little room with me for the next 6 hours.”

“How do you know? Maybe they like it, I know I do,” Jon taunted, his grin stretching until it reached his dark eyes. “I think a bath is a grand idea. You first. I’ll watch.”

“Oh no, no my love. I understand better what your idea of watching is than I did before. A proper bath on a ship is difficult enough without you climbing in it and leaving me dirtier than before I even got in, and if we are to dock in White Harbor by this evening I’ll not have another chance to make myself presentable to your bannerman before we leave the ship,” Daenerys chided while stroking his whiskered jaw. She always seemed to be petting and touching him when they were alone. He had grown used to her fingers running through his hair as they talked, her kisses on his shoulder or his neck as they drifted off to sleep, her foot running up and down his calf as they broke their fast. 

Jon winced a bit at the mention of White Harbor. Their time on the boat was at an end, and even though their days had been consumed with council meetings to try to plan and strategize the coming war and all it’s possible outcomes he didn’t feel at all prepared. Not prepared for what needed to be done to defeat the army of the dead, and certainly not prepared to lose everything he had with Daenerys when their advisors and subordinates wandered off to their beds at night and he found his way to hers.

He had fallen in love with her long before he had gathered the courage to knock on the door to her cabin. It had been a gradual slide into a new way of existing. Jon’s first encounter with the little Queen sitting on an imposing stone throne had left him feeling resentment as well as admiration. His stay on Dragonstone and his subsequent interactions with her saw his admiration growing as his resentment subsided. She was powerful, but Jon felt he was only seeing a portion of the Dragon Queen’s true power. She must have known in the cave that he would bend to her, break to her, if she seduced him, but she didn’t. Not like Melisandre, or Cersei, or any of the other women who used their beauty to sway the minds of men they wished to control. Daenerys didn’t want his lust, she wanted his appreciation. Somewhere along the line he had started to view her as an equal, and she him. He wasn’t the bastard to her, and she wasn’t a foreign invader to him. 

When Tyrion’s plan to capture a wight and bring it to Cersei was being born in the map room of Dragonstone Jon had to finally acknowledge what was brewing in his heart as well as his mind. He knew he had to go on this mission himself, but what struck him was the hollowness he felt at the thought of leaving Daenerys. For months all he had thought about was returning North, back to Winterfell, but a part of him had been thinking of doing so with her at his side. At first it was as a powerful ally, the Mother of Dragons bringing fire and blood to the Night King and helping defend his people. But now it was as something else. He imagined her arm in arm with him walking through the great hall to greet the lords. Giving each other counsel, as only one ruler to another could. Lying tangled in his bed watching the glow of the fireplace after making love. Standing in front of the weirwood tree in the Godswood and saying the words that would forever make him hers, and her his. Instead he would be departing from Daenerys to go on a hunt which would more than likely end with him never returning to look upon her face again. 

“What is it Jon?” Dany inquired, breaking through his dark reminiscing. Her soft hand stilled and cupped his jaw to look deep into his eyes. “Where did you just go?”

Jon tried to put on a grin, hoping it would carry to his eyes that he knew must have taken on the gloom of his thoughts. The hard decisions made in their past were nothing compared to what decisions laid before them. But he didn’t want to think on any of it now. Now he wanted to enjoy the time left in their little cabin. Before they had to face a world of uncertainties, first of which was what they would become once they docked. Would they be King Jon and Queen Daenerys, allies in war and nothing else? Daenerys called him “my love” quite often in the warmth of their bed, but Jon was hesitant to ask if she would proclaim it outside of their bed as well. He was too scared of the answer.

“Nowhere. I’m right here,” was all he could respond with. “You’re right, I would absolutely ruin your bath. Ruin you as well for as long as you’d allow me,” he warned before he growled and attacked her neck with small bites and soothing kisses.

Dany’s appreciative moan sent some more jolts through his cock, but she pushed him back with an insistent palm against his chest.

“So perhaps you should stop ravaging me before you truly start and go get yourself some breakfast instead, we’ve a long day ahead of us.”

“Hmmm. Long day indeed. And I am rather hungry,” Jon responded as his hand slid between her open robe to grip her hip and gently push her from her side to her back. “I can think of one thing I’d like to feast on, and I assure you my queen, it cannot be found in the dining hall,” Jon’s words were spoken between the light kisses he was placing on her soft skin, from her collarbone down toward her sex. He stopped after dipping his tongue into her navel, and looked up to see her response.

The intensity of her gaze left him no doubt that she wanted him further south, his tongue on her cunt as opposed to her abdomen.

“I know better than to keep a wolf from his meal,” she answered barely above a whisper, her want showing in her eyes as her thighs opened for him.

Now Jon’s grin was true, he would dine on the finest woman in the world, and be sure she would be entering her bath with weak knees and a swollen cunt. Looking at glistening lips between her thighs Jon decided neither of them would be exiting this room until closer to lunch, not breakfast. White Harbor, their advisors, and the rest of the damn world could wait. If this was his last chance in the foreseeable future to satisfy the woman who owned his dreams he would savor every moment of it. 

Daenerys found her voice and uttered the words that unleashed Jon's beast, "You'd better get to work, Jon Snow."


	2. Without a Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys reflects on her time North of the wall as well as the morning's events.

Daenerys sighed heavily as she sat at the small table in her cabin, where she had been picking at her breakfast of hard boiled eggs and soft, warm rolls. The stewards had been busy filling the copper tub and setting hot coals in trays underneath to keep the water warm for as long as possible in this frigid part of the world. She had not yet grown used to the cold, and neither had her dragons.

She had been checking on them as she ate, pulling on the ribbons she could feel, but couldn’t see, that linked the mother to her children. She felt Drogon off to the East, seeking out his own meal from the waters, while Rhaegeal was a short distance to the North, trying to get a feel for the city and people they were rapidly approaching. Both her dragons were growing anxious the farther north her ship went, just as she did. She wondered yet again how much their feelings affected each other. Did their emotions flow back and forth on that ribbon as well? Dany hadn’t realized her connection to them was so tangible, not until one of the them was lost to her. When Viserion’s eyes closed and he slid beneath the icy water in the frozen hell to the north Daenerys had felt the severing of their connection as sharply and painfully as one might feel the sudden loss of a limb. 

Thinking back to that day of horrors just a few short weeks ago made a chill travel up her spine. Her agony at watching her sweetest son die before her eyes quickly turned to desperation. First for Jon to reappear from the water the wights had plunged him into, next for Drogon to lift her and the brave men who had ventured with Jon beyond the wall to safety. She wouldn’t lose another one of them to this army of dead men. Not Drogon, Rhaegal, Jorah, or even the ones who rode the sky with her, without her even knowing their names. She would protect the living, just as Jon had begged her to. Just as he had done himself.

Dany’s desperation had reached it’s peak after they landed safely at East Watch. She helped the men dismount Drogon, stomach turning at the sight of their captive who was once a living, breathing person, now reduced to a snarling creature from what must be the depths of the deepest hells. Daenerys had turned to scramble back atop her black dragon, she would go back and search for him. Jon couldn’t be lost to her, she couldn’t bear the thought to have so much taken from her all at once. Viserion was dead, she knew that as surely as she had known the fires would bring him to life in the Great Grass Sea years ago. But perhaps Jon was not. Perhaps-

A strong set of arms had lifted her and pulled her away from Drogon’s wing. Later she would learn the name of the man the arms belonged to, Tormund. Jon’s friend and ally, also the only one brave or stupid enough to man handle a Queen, and in front of her dragons no less. Drogon must have agreed with the survivors shouting insistence that she could not go back for him. He pushed off the ground and took to circling the air with Rhaegal, their cries bursting from them in a sorrowful song. 

“You can’t go back for ‘im. You can’t,” Tormund tried to speak as calmly and assertively as he could once he had her enveloped, even as she kicked at his shins and struggled to twist out of the bear hug embrace he had her in from behind. “He wouldn’t want it. He’d never allow it. You and your dragons are all’s left to kill that cocksucker that wants to slaughter us all. You CAN’T go back, not now. Not unprepared.”

“Khaleesi, please,” Jorah’s soft voice implored. “You know he’s right. Jon wouldn’t want another of your dragons to die. Nor you especially.”

Daenerys had stopped struggling at that point, Tormund lowered her down and turned her to face him, still with a firm grip on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes and she saw her anguish matched in his look. This loss was not just her own, these men shared some of the pain that had wrapped around her tighter than any cloak or blanket ever could.

“He knows the land. If he made it out he will come back here. He’s not an easy fucker to kill,” the giant man with red hair tried to assure her. Looking at the others who survived the journey Dany saw one other, a man with an eyepatch, who seemed to agree with Tormund’s assessment. Jorah and the tall man with the scarred face who held the wight still under his large boot didn’t seem to agree with the hopeful sentiment Tormund was trying to give her. They had seen exactly what she had, Jon went down into the freezing waters, heavy with furs on his back as well as 4 dead men whose teeth gnashed at him and blades pointed toward him even as they fell. It was impossible to think of anyone surviving that.

Daenerys turned to the men of the Night’s Watch and the wildlings who had joined them from inside the tower. 

“Take me to the top of the wall,” she commanded, trying as best she could to sound a Queen, and not a heartbroken little girl.

Hours passed atop the wall. How many she didn’t quite know. The scarred man, Sandor she learned, had come up with Ser Davos to tell Daenerys and Jorah the ship had been readied and was waiting for her command to set sail back for Dragonstone, then on to King’s Landing after that. The cargo stored within was the reason she had watched her dragon die. The reason she had watched Jon die. Her heart was shattered into a thousand pieces all so that bitch pretender of a Queen named Cersei would see with her own eyes the threat in the North. Daenerys had not liked this plan the men concocted back in Dragonstone, it seemed absurd to send Jorah, Jon and others on such a mission when Daenerys knew exactly how to neutralize the lion in the south. How could the deaths of a few in the Red Keep killed by her dragonfire compare to the deaths of thousands on a battlefield, or to the deaths of two men she cared deeply for? Tyrion’s assertions that she did not want to be Queen of the Ashes and Jon’s disapproving look whenever combat via dragons was mentioned was constantly at war in her mind with Lady Olenna’s advice to be a dragon, to follow what felt so right to her yet was at odds with those around her. She fought her instincts and allowed this fool’s errand, and now she paid the price for it. The crushing realization that she lost Jon before she truly had him, when she had been only beginning to understand the depth of emotion she felt for him, that would be the penalty she paid for the rest of her life.

Ser Davos hadn’t been able to look her in the eye when he tried to express his sorrow over Jon, and Viserion too. Daenerys was thankful he didn’t, one look in his eyes would have broken the last of her defenses that kept the tears from flowing. Jon was his King, but she knew Davos looked at him as a son as well. They stood next to each other for some time without speaking and stared into the bleak, harsh landscape before them. Each a parent mourning the loss of a child in their own way. She felt his hand briefly squeeze her elbow before he returned to the base of the wall, silent support all he could give her, and all she could stand to receive.

Just as she gave in to Jorah’s repeated pleas for them to leave this gods forsaken land a horn had sounded. When the horse and rider appeared, breaking free from the tree line, Daenerys’ heart stopped beating for a moment, and her lungs felt unable to expand. He returned to her, he did the impossible and escaped the clutches of certain death. 

Her impatience to see him led to her calling for Drogon to return her to the ground, Jorah could find his own way down. She saw nothing and heard no one as she ran towards the horse, tunnel vision taking over in her rush to see him, to touch him, to know that he lived. Thinking back on it now Dany couldn’t remember how the men managed to separate half frozen horse from very frozen rider, or their trek back to her ship. But she remembered the scars that marred his chest and abdomen when Davos and the boy Gendry rushed to remove his icy furs. She remembered the prayers whispered in her head to the gods she had never believed in. Her hushed pleas to him as she sat at his bedside stroking his brow and kissing his fingers for a full night and nearly the full following day before he finally awoke. ‘Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Never again. Please, Jon.’

It had been nearly impossible not to throw her arms around him when he woke. Before she could say anything he was apologizing to her. He had nearly died and yet all he could think of was her sorrow. When had she ever known another man like this? The tears that she struggled to contain were for Viserion, yes, but she also had no way to express how deeply the notion of losing Jon destroyed her. So instead she vowed to fight alongside him. Fire and blood would heal her wounds and his. The Night King would not take anyone else who mattered from her, not without paying for it with his life. There was no judgement in his eyes, no doubt that the promises she made were untrue. Jon had looked at her and declared her his Queen. She had never felt so unworthy of anything in her life. Viserion was dead because she had doubted Jon, men who traveled north with him had died because she had not let go of her desire for the Iron Throne, and Jon had almost lost his life as well. All could have been prevented if she had just believed in him, yet he looked at her with more admiration than she had felt from the crowds in Astapoor and Meereen put together. The feelings churning through her were too overwhelming. Looking down to see she had placed her hand back in his and just how perfect they fit one another became too much. Dany had fled his room before he consumed her like the flames themselves never could.

The door clicked as it shut and Daenerys’ attention returned to the present. She realized the stewards had left her room. Shaking off the haze of her daydreams she stood to approach her steaming bath. She was amazed at how thoroughly Jon could make her miss him, and dominate her thoughts when he had been with her in this room less than an hour ago. He had dominated more than just her thoughts then. The corners of her lips began to curl upwards at the memories of him this morning. Waking him up with her throat around his cock was something she had wanted to do for a few days now, but he usually woke first and she hadn’t had the opportunity. The reward for her early rise this morning was immense. Seeing his eyes still clouded with sleep as his brow furrowed to fight off his impending orgasm was a delight, particularly when he failed in this fight and his face released all its tension as his cock released inside her mouth. Knowing she could make such a strong, hardened man quake with little more than her tongue and her eyes thrilled her like nothing else. 

Perhaps best of all was the determination he had afterward, he had cum for her once, he decided to pay her back threefold before he would again. She hadn’t understood him when he paused in the middle of one of the long strokes of his tongue against her pussy to make this proclamation. She learned soon enough what he had meant. Jon spent ages and ages with his face buried between her legs. He would suck and lick at her clit until she was writhing underneath him, then dart away to kiss her thighs or nibble at her lips just as her climax was about to overtake her. This torturous dance of lick, retreat, nuzzle, retreat, tongue her opening, retreat again went on and on until she begged him to fuck her. 

“Oh I will, don’t you worry. But first you’ll cum on my tongue. Then on my hand. Then I’ll fuck you, and then you’ll cum again,” he promised with his mouth just a whisper above her pulsing cunt. When Daenerys looked into his eyes she saw the intensity of his glare upon her. She had awoken something inside him she was equal parts thrilled and scared by. Faster than she could register Jon had snatched both her arms, pulling one hand from where she had twisted her fingers in the tangled curls of his head, the other from her breast where she had been brushing and pinching her own nipple, hoping the added feeling would give her the release Jon was denying her. 

Jon pinned her wrists to the bed down next to her hips with a strength she wouldn’t be able to combat. Any thoughts of fighting his hold were quickly lost as he attacked between her folds with a new found level of lust. The knot of nerves that had been toyed with to the point of oversensitivity was now subject to a flurry of lightning quick licks from his pointed tongue. With his hands pinning down her wrists and his thick forearms holding down her thighs there was no escape from his onslaught. Only a few seconds later and Dany cried out, her whole body convulsing and shuddering when he continued his ministrations past what her body could take. 

Just as suddenly as his last set of movements had started, they stopped. Dany felt the gentle pressure of his palm against her soaking womanhood, softly rubbing against her to ease her back down to earth. Meanwhile his mouth was now plying her breasts with open mouthed kisses, tender suckling at one nipple then the other, his eyes closed and face soft looking when she was able to focus her vision once again. 

“That was mean. Wonderful, and mean,” she struggled to say when her breathing returned closer to it’s normal state. She stroked the right side of his face as he stuck out his tongue to lick a circle around her left nipple. 

Jon chuckled a little, the vibration against her breast somehow registering down by his hand still nestled between her thighs. 

“Sorry, love. How about I try to be less mean and more wonderful, eh?” His finger snaked toward her opening, and dipped inside to feel her warmth.

Jon probably thought her intake of breath was only for his change in tactics. But it wasn’t. He called her “love”. It was something he had never said before, she would know, she had been paying attention. The first time she had addressed him as “my love” it had been unintentional. She felt it, but she had had not brought herself to say it to him outright. The slip in terminology had not gone unnoticed by Jon, who had been dressing himself for the day when she said it. She saw the sudden pause in his movements, just for a moment, before he resumed tying the laces on his breeches. Dany was sure his feelings for her were as deep and true as hers for him, but neither had brought up what all of this meant in relation to every other part of their lives. They would have to, sooner rather than later considering in half a day's time they would be back on land and under the questioning stares of the Northern Lords. But hearing the term of endearment come from Jon’s lips was worth whatever headaches these bothersome northerners could give her.

The rest of her thoughts and worries were quickly pushed away by the matching thrusts of Jon’s fingers in her cunt and his tongue in her mouth. Dany had tried to explain to Missandei how she felt after Jon’s kisses, and the only description she could find to fit was ‘thoroughly invaded’. Missandei joked that it didn’t sound very romantic, or fun, but Daenerys assured her it was both. Their kisses were often like the first one, right after she had granted him entrance to her cabin on their first night. Jon attacked her mouth with steady determination, not rushed, not hesitant, simply a thorough examination of her mouth with his, a tangling of their tongues that was more a dance than a battle. Dany’s thoughts would melt away, she would simply feel all that he was trying to say with a kiss, and she tried to speak to him in this same manner as well. She never wanted to be kissed by any other man in any other way again. For her, it could only be Jon Snow.

The water felt sublime as she stepped in. Missandei would return soon to help ready her clothing and hair for the day. Her dear friend had been busy since early this morning trying to prepare Daenerys’ household for their arrival at White Harbor tonight. Transporting an army, a Queen, and a King was no easy task. She was grateful Missandei expertly commanded those around her to make their journey as smooth as possible, so Daenerys and her council could focus on the war to come. Dany tried to push the thoughts of herself and Jon from her mind to focus on the task at hand, the sooner she finished bathing the sooner her belongings could be packed and readied for departure. 

It was a struggle to forget though, how his two fingers had curled slightly inside her as he moved them in and out of her body, while his thumb rubbed and circled her clit perfectly. How he swallowed her moans when she came undone, never breaking the depth of their kiss. How he had managed to to slide out his fingers and slide in his hardened cock while she was still clenching around him. Jon was true to his word, as always. His slow, deep thrusts were perfect to bring her already worn out body to it’s third climax, all the while he stroked a hand through her hair, or kissed softly her neck, or whispered in her ear how good she felt around him, how beautiful she was, how he had been struggling not to cum since the moment he tasted her. Only after she had gasped and shuddered yet again did he increase his pace to find his own end. She loved looking into his eyes in the moments before Jon came. Did he have any notion of how perfect he looked as he held himself over her and thrust inside of her? His lips would part as he struggled to pull enough air into his lungs, eyes losing their focus and looking so very open and calm compared to the steely gaze he usually wore, brow furrowed in deep concentration, hair messed and wild. He looked like a god, a man, and an innocent boy all at once.

This time when Jon reached his peak he did so with a series of shouts. No words were formed, but the force of his pleasure pushed the air and the sounds from his lungs in a way she was sure he couldn’t control. Feeling the heat of his seed filling her she ground her hips up against his pelvis to pull every last tremor from him. It was glorious how well they fit together, like the most perfect of puzzle pieces.

Jon had promised her she would cum on his mouth, his hand, and his cock, and he had delivered. Now Daenerys made a silent promise of her own, as she began to wash her legs with the soft cloth and scented soaps lined up by her tub. She would tackle the matter of their relationship head on before they departed the ship. She would make him understand just how she felt about him, and she wouldn’t allow anything else to go unsaid between them any longer. How he chose to address his people would be up to him, but he would know, without a doubt, that Daenerys Stormborn was in love with Jon Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next is boat talk, a lot of interesting characters on this boat, we should hear from a few of them.
> 
> This is my first fic, thank you for the kudos and comments! Nerve wracking to put yourself out there, I appreciate everyone reading


	3. The Return of the Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon joins Sandor for lunch, ends up meeting the Hound.

Jon was correct in guessing it would be almost mid-day before he parted from Daenerys and began making his rounds of the day. He usually walked the ship accompanied by Ser Davos, his Hand’s vast knowledge of life on the sea invaluable when Jon was trying to understand reports given by the boat’s Essosi Captain. Jon wasn’t of much use on a boat, he knew, but the crew seemed to appreciate his offers of help and interest in making sure they had everything they needed to accomplish their tasks. 

He found Ser Davos with the ship’s navigator and the Captain, pouring over maps of White Harbor and determining how much of the fleet would be able to dock and unload tonight, and which ships would have to wait for the morning. Trying to navigate large ships into the harbor in the dark wasn’t ideal, but winter was upon them and trying to operate only during the shortened daylight hours would delay them far too long. Davos told him he would see him in the council room in an hours time, apparently Lord Tyrion had sent the word out for them all to assemble this afternoon instead of having their daily conferences without his and the Queen’s presence this morning. 

Jon had started to hate the little room designated for their meetings. It only lead to frustration. Everyday since they had departed Dragonstone was spent with himself, Daenerys, Tyrion, Davos, Grey Worm, Jorah, Missandei, Sandor Clegane, and Qhono of the Dothraki locked in the room for hours on end trying to plan a war against an enemy they knew too little about. The once tidy chamber now had stacks of maps and battle plans covering every available surface, evidence of their attempts to devise a strategy for every scenario. There remained too many unanswered questions. The Night King must be looking for a way to breach the Wall, why else would he be amassing an army of that size if he didn’t intend to use it, and his domination over the lands north of the Wall meant the only way to continue growing his numbers was to come south. But where? When? How would he do it? It wasn’t possible to plan an offensive attack against an enemy if you didn’t know where they would be. He hoped Bran would be able to answer some of these questions with whatever this “gift” of his was, but as far as he knew Bran could only see the present and the past, not what was still to come. As a result much of their focus had been on defense. The North was vast, and only a few locations were truly defensible against a regular army, would any of them hold against the Night King’s horde? His last correspondence from Sansa before he boarded the ship had indicated that thousands of the inhabitants of the North were finally heeding the call by their liege lords to abandon their lands or villages and head to Winterfell. That was good, he wasn’t sure how they would protect them all but the fortress designed by Bran the Builder himself was the only hope for safe haven for those who could not venture further south in time. Too many questions, and not enough answers, he thought to himself as he headed for the stairs.

The smell of grilled meat that met Jon as he descended below deck made his stomach rumble loudly, reminding him he’d not eaten since early last night. He decided to head for the dining room off the galley used by the Queen’s household. The ship’s crew and the Unsullied dined in shifts at set times in a larger room, but Jon had noticed his presence there seemed to bring the laughs and lightheartedness of the men to a stop. They were expected to behave in an appropriate way around _King_ Jon, and he felt bad if his being there limited the few moments of levity the men could find. 

He thought about grabbing a few plates and heading back to Daenerys’ room to dine with her once she was done with her bath, but decided against it when the thought of her stepping out of her tub, water dripping off a pink nipple, and damp hair sticking to the curve of her back above her thick arse caused his pants to become uncomfortably tight. 

_Seven hells, I’m worse than a greenboy who just discovered he could tug on his cock. Try that after all we’ve done this morning already and I’ll collapse from exhaustion_ , Jon chastised himself as he entered the dining room.

He loaded his plate with some pork sausages and some vegetables roasted in a spicy smelling sauce then took a seat on the bench at the heavy wood table that was bolted into the floor, long and wide to accommodate about 20 people at once . Jon hadn’t gotten used to everything being secured to the floor, he stubbed his toes against immovable furniture at least once a day, the legs of this damned table a common culprit. Bolts as thick as his thumb made sure his bones suffered the impact instead of the wood.

The only other person in the room was Clegane, sitting across the table and a little further down from Jon on the bench built out of the wall, finished plate in front of him, ale in hand. He was usually in here when not in the council room. The crew seemed uneasy when Clegane was above deck so he chose to avoid it, though Jon didn’t know if the unease was because of Sandor’s scarred face or his generally unwelcoming demeanor. They’d had quite a few meals together, usually only a nod to indicate one or the other was departing after their plate was cleaned the only interaction while they ate. Silence suited them both just fine, unlike Tyrion or Gendry who would chatter incessantly throughout their meals.

Conversation would distract him from his wandering thoughts, he considered. His mind was currently gifting him with images from the fourth night he spent in Daenerys’ bed. The night she showed him the wonders of the Meereenese Knot. Jon blew out a heavy breath, remembering how his jaw had clicked and his calves ached for days after but, gods, he had never enjoyed being so sore in his life. _I wonder when we can try that again? Definitely not until we reach Winterfell, there’d be no where to hang the straps from in the tents we’ll be sleeping in on the way…_

“You alright there, Snow?” Clegane rumbled, breaking through Jon’s thoughts. He saw the man peering at him from the side of one eye, other still closed, as he was resting with his head tipped back against the wall.

“Aye, I'm fine. Just thinking about what’s in store when we reach Winterfell,” Jon replied, stabbing at another bite of sausage, hoping he looked more collected than he felt.

He turned to face the door when he heard footsteps approaching. Ser Jorah came through the entryway but halted when he saw Jon. He gave a quick dip of his head then turned and left the way he came before Jon could even greet him. Jon turned back and gave Sandor a puzzled look.

“Might have to get used to that,” the big man chuckled. 

“Get used to what?” Jon asked as he wolfed down his meal. The foreign crew cooked some odd dishes he couldn’t always identify, but overall Jon enjoyed what was served. Especially the fiery foods he would never have an opportunity to taste in the North. Pretty soon he’d be too fat for his armor if he kept pounding away dish after dish the way he had been lately.

“You haven’t noticed? He’s been avoiding you like a rash at a whorehouse. Lovesick bloody fool, that one. Been going through wineskins at night faster than I can count,” he explained. 

Jon’s mouth was full so he shot a confused look to Clegane to try and draw an explanation from him. 

“You and the little Queen might have wanted to take notice that these here walls are wood, not stone,” he said, reaching up to knock at the wall behind his head to emphasize his point. “Poor sod’s been drinking all night, every night, to drown the sound of you two out, but I don’t think it’s working.”

Jon tensed over his plate, the fork coming slowly down from his mouth, mind churning as he chewed. This wasn’t good. He knew Jorah had feelings for the Queen, hell, the rats hiding in the storerooms probably knew, it was that obvious. It was probably no secret to any close to them on board that Jon’s bed was empty at night, and 2 trays of food were delivered to Daenerys in the morning, but he didn’t think they were so obnoxious about it until now. They had made sure to keep their affections behind closed doors, away from prying eyes. He should have considered ears, as well. 

It didn’t sound like Jorah was handling these turns of events as well as Jon had thought. He saw Jorah everyday in their war room, but when was the last time he saw him anywhere else on the ship? They had been building a good rapport since their talks up North, but when was the last time Jon had really had a discussion with his new comrade? A week ago, longer? Fuck. Jon was so determined to focus on Dany whenever a moment would allow, he was ignoring what was happening around him. A man spurned was one thing, a man spurned who had to see the object of his infatuation with another man everyday could be dangerous. Very dangerous when you add a generous dose of wine to the mix.

Jon tried not to seem alarmed as he raised his own cup to drink and asked,

“Do I need to watch my back?”

“Not yet. I’ve been keeping an eye on it,” Sandor responded, his joking tone replaced by his usual seriousness. “I’ll let you know if I smell a problem coming.”

“Appreciate it,” he said, placing his cup back and trying to resume his meal, finding it hard to meet Clegane’s glare. Sandor just nodded once and they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. He hoped he wouldn’t have to mention any of this to Daenerys, she valued her friendship with the old knight and he didn’t want to see it damaged.

Trying to find something to discuss that didn’t involve his sex life, Jon mentioned looking forward to getting off the boat and onto a horse headed to Winterfell.

“Can’t say I’m looking forward to it. I figure one or the other of your sisters will be calling for you to take my head as soon as we get there,” he said, sitting up and taking another swig from his tall cup.

“What? Why would that be?” Jon questioned. They had spoken about Arya and the Hound’s travels before the ship had departed Dragonstone, Jon needing clarification before allowing Clegane back on his family’s land. Brienne had told him she was trying to “save” Arya from him, but Jon figured if Arya had needed saving she would have gone with Brienne willingly instead of running off after Brienne won. His hunch had been right, it seemed as though Sandor had been more her protector than her captor. He couldn’t be sure what her reaction would be to seeing him again, but they would cross that bridge when they got to it. 

But Sansa wanting him dead? He couldn’t picture that. Sansa had mentioned the Hound when she recounted her time in King’s Landing to him at Castle Black. She had said Sandor was one of the only people who had watched out for her there. Later when she was more comfortable going into detail she had told Jon much more. 

“Sansa said you saved her more than once in the Red Keep, why would she want you dead now?”

“Didn’t take you for a funny man, Snow. Going to try out for a mummer’s troupe next? Saved her? Far from it. I deserve whatever cruelty she sees fit to subject me to, trust me,” he responded, looking down into his cup, but staring through it into some far off place.

“I’m not joking, Clegane. She- well, she mourned for you after Lady Brienne told her of your duel in the mountains. She thought you dead,” Jon tried to explain. 

“And she mourned for the bloody Hound? You expect me to believe that?” Sandor questioned him roughly.

“She did. Sansa has many regrets from the time she departed Winterfell with our father, we all do. Everything that’s happened to our family since King Robert came North has been shit piled on shit, but one of her biggest regrets since then was not leaving with you when you offered to take her the night of the Blackwater burning,” Jon tried to explain. He had Clegane’s full attention now.

“She told you that?”

“Aye. And that it was one of the moments she had wished she could go back to and choose differently. If she’d gone with you Littlefinger never would have gotten hold of her,” Jon continued, noting the stiffening of his companion’s spine when Lord Baelish’s name was brought up. “Never would have been sold off to the Bolton’s either.”

“The fuck you mean ‘sold off’?” Sandor roared. “Thought she was married to a Bolton bastard, a Snow like you, the Lord of Winterfell and all that horseshite. And what the fuck does Littlefinger have to do with it?”

Did he not know about the Bolton’s? About their treachery and the battle that eventually led to Jon being crowned? Jon realized he knew little about the man sitting across from him and where he’d been these past years, maybe Sandor knew even less about him and how he got his family’s home back.

“Lord Baelish got Sansa out of the capitol the day of Joffrey’s wedding. Apparently he played some role in the King’s death and used the mayhem afterwards to smuggle her out. Awhile later he took her to Winterfell and arranged a marriage between Sansa and Roose Bolton’s bastard son, Ramsay,” Jon tried to explain. 

“Littlefinger is a backstabbing, lying, scheming, little cunt. Surprised he didn’t try to marry her himself, the lecher. Little bird should have known not to trust him,” Sandor ground out. “So how’d it end up you killing her Lordly husband? And you’re still in her good graces?”

Little bird? What? Jon would have to leave that be for now, Sandor seemed to know some of what had gone on in the North, but apparently not all. And if the mention of Littlefinger was enough to make him look murderous Jon wasn’t sure what the story of Ramsay and his cruelties would do. It wasn’t Jon’s tale to tell, really. It was no secret to any back home that Ramsay was a horror, both to the people he was commanding as well as to his bride, but it wasn’t something Sansa spoke about easily. Especially not to people she wasn’t close to, she’d given only the broad strokes of it even to Jon. But Sansa had trusted this brute of a man once, should Jon trust him now?

He took a moment to appraise Clegane before continuing. They’d gone beyond the wall together. Fought side by side. He didn’t go by the name the Hound anymore, but he was still as loyal as one. No one had forced, or even asked him to risk his life against the dead. But he did anyway. Dragged the wight back down to King’s Landing, risking capture and execution by Cersei for being a traitor. But Clegane went anyway, walked straight into the Dragon Pit under the banner of House Stark. Now he was sailing back North, back towards the frozen army instead of fleeing from it, offering whatever recommendations he could for their battle plans, many of the siege preparations Jon would implement were Sandor’s idea. His time as a warrior for the Lannisters was invaluable to Jon. He knew how to fight, he knew how to lead men in battle, and he had fought the dead and lived to tell about it. Jon and Daenerys’ combined armies offered an impressive number of men, more so if Cersei’s armies showed up, but only a handful who had actually fought their enemy and survived it. Jon needed every commander with experience he could get. 

In addition to all that there was some history between Sansa and the warrior that seemed deeper than Jon had known. Perhaps it was better for Sandor to learn what had befallen her now, and not through gossip back at Winterfell. _Fuck it_ , Jon thought, _he looks the way I would if someone was hinting at harm coming to Daenerys but wasn’t telling me the whole of it. He looks like he’s willing to cut down anyone trying to hurt her, and that’s not a bad thing, especially with Littlefinger lurking about._

“Baelish convinced Sansa a marriage to the Bolton’s would keep her safe from the Lannisters. Would continue the Stark line at Winterfell in blood, if not in name, through her children,” Jon began to explain, pushing away from the food he no longer had a taste for. The mention of Ramsay had a tendency to turn his stomach. 

“What he didn’t tell her, and claims not to have known, was that Ramsay was a monster. He hurt her. Many times, in many ways,” he said in a lowered voice. He wouldn’t give further detail, but he wouldn’t have to. Clegane knew what forms a man’s cruelty could take, his darkened face and white knuckles around his cup told Jon he understood.

“And then you killed the Bolton prick?” 

“Then she escaped with help from Theon Greyjoy. Lady Brienne brought her up to Castle Black and-”

“Get to the part where you kill the cocksucker.” Sandor spat out. 

“I didn't.” 

Clegane’s head whipped to the side, staring him down. He looked ready to launch over the table and attack Jon himself.

“Sansa did,” Jon told him, trying to calm the brute. “I met his army in the field with my own army of some Northern houses and the Freefolk. Sansa summoned the Knights of the Vale, and they came with Littlefinger, saved our asses at the last minute.”

“How. Did. He. Die?” Sandor growled, little interest in the battle, bloodthirsty for Ramsay’s fate.

“I pounded his face in. Then she fed him to his dogs, still alive. She watched as they ripped him apart,” Jon noted the calm that was creeping into Sandor’s demeanor. He couldn’t tell if it was the man relaxing, or if it was the eerie calm that came before the worst of storms. 

After a few moments Jon realized Sandor wasn’t going to respond, apparently satisfied with the information he’d received and was lost in his own thoughts. Jon made to leave for the council meeting that would be starting soon, but decided to stop at the door to give Sandor a last bit of information, something that might ease his mind about being welcome at Winterfell.

“You know, I asked why she wanted to end him that way and she told me the hounds had to do it. That _her_ Hound would have died for her, but also would have killed for her. That’s when she told me about the Battle of the Blackwater, and how she spent many nights since wishing she had gone with you, that she would never have suffered as she did if you were there. I assure you Clegane, she’ll not let your head be mounted on a spike now,” Jon tried to reassure him. 

With that said he turned and headed down the hallway, pausing partway down the corridors length when a roar erupted from behind him, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass echoing from the dining room. The storm had come, and it was called the Hound. 

Passing back through the hall later in the day Jon would be impressed at the sight of 5 crewmen trying to lift and bolt the blasted table back into the floorboards. If Clegane could rip close to a half ton table of solid wood and iron away from those bolts at the mention of harm befalling his sister, what would he do to an enemy charging toward her? Jon’s battle plans would now include a new line of defense for his family, their own personal army comprised of just one member, Sandor of the House Clegane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple points I should make for this chapter:
> 
> 1) I have no idea what the Meereenese Knot could be, but from what Tyrion said it sounds like something daario would have known, who would then teach Dany, who would of course share this wonder with Jon. Hope they had fun with it, maybe Jon and Pod can give each other pointers
> 
> 2) jorah won't betray them. I just need Jorah to be low so he can have a great high later. 
> 
> 3) sandor is my favorite character. He's probably the focus of the third work in this series, if I make it that far. He's not an easy guy to write for, but I needed to establish some stuff between him and jon, plus set up some winterfell reunions.
> 
> 4) I learned how to italicize! Yay, now I can show their thoughts easier. Reading directions are helpful, I probably should have started with them instead of just copy and pasting
> 
> Next chapter in a few days, white harbor on the horizon. Thank you for all the kudos and comments, this is such an awesome community


	4. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion instigates, Jon and Daenerys confess, Qhono wonders what all the fuss is about.

Jon slammed the door with so much force Daenerys jumped in her seat. She had never seen him display his anger so easily before, much more so than their tempestuous first encounter. Even more than the fury she knew bubbled beneath the surface during their meet with Cersei.

She tracked him silently as he paced the ship's map room, alone with him now that their council had departed at Jon’s command.

“Leave! All of you! Out,” he had shouted, actually _shouted_ , at both his advisors and her own. 

Tyrion was first to rise and depart, his face reddened with anger, glare shifting between Jon, who was commanding him, and Ser Davos, who he had been furiously arguing with a moment earlier. Jorah, Davos, Missandei, and Grey Worm had silently followed. Daenerys was pleased to see they did not question Jon’s right to command them. He was a King, he needed to act as such more often.

Qhono had shrugged and mumbled as he rose, his thoughts uttered in Dothraki thankfully only carrying far enough to reach Daenerys and Missandei, who usually sat between him and Grey Worm to translate when needed.

“A Khaleesi can bed who she wants. It is known. What business is it of the pale men, maybe they're just jealous they only have their hands at night,” he had said, amused by the display he had just witnessed.

Missandei blushed and turned to leave without comment, but Daenerys peaked an eyebrow and gave a slight tip of her head in his direction to let her warrior know she agreed with his assessment before he departed.

Now she would wait. The only opinion she was interested in was Jon’s, but he had remained silent through their Hand’s quarrel, until rising and ripping open the door, demanding they all leave. For now he seemed intent on pacing back and forth in front of the closed door, looking very much like a caged animal seeking a way to release it’s energy in too small a space, as opposed to the calm and collected King in the North he was usually.

That was where the trouble began. Daenerys’ insistence that Jon was still King. Tyrion was adamant that once they arrived at Winterfell Jon would have to be referred to as Warden of the North so there would be no question in the minds of the Northmen who was sworn to who, but Daenerys argued against him every time the matter was discussed. Her reasoning always boiled down to “because I say it is so,” which in addition to her consistently trying to avoid any conversation of the personal relationship between herself and Jon had pushed Tyrion to a breaking point today.

Tyrion had questioned if Jon would inform those waiting on shore that he had bent the knee to Daenerys, or if he would wait until reaching Winterfell. The last raven received from Lady Sansa before they left Dragonstone indicated she would not inform the Lords gathered at Winterfell of Jon’s decision. She was concerned her inability to answer the questions that would naturally follow would lead to further dissent amongst them. Daenerys understood the girl’s hesitancy, reports from Varys’ little birds had began trickling in from the North, their chirping able to resume now that Ramsay Bolton no longer held Winterfell and Varys was firmly stationed in Dragonstone to easily receive them.

The impression she had of the leaders of the Northern Houses was not improved by the Spider’s reports. Talk amongst the Lords of regret for naming Jon their ruler instead of Sansa. Whispers of their King being a fool like the King before him, his brother, risking the North by falling in with a foreign woman. 

_How dare they_ she seethed, the thought passing through her mind yet again. Twice they have named a man their King, and twice they have abandoned him. These same men who wouldn’t lift a finger to help return Winterfell to the Starks now want to control the Starks left within it. If they found Lady Sansa to be an unfit ruler as well Daenerys had no doubt they would seek to unname her and find another, yet again. Men like this were not to be trusted, but Jon would remain loyal to them even as they crossed him, she could not simply disregard these fools.

“He will be addressed as King in the North, not just now, but after it is explained that he has sworn his fealty to me as well,” Daenerys interjected into the conversation when the topic yet again came up this afternoon.

“Your Grace, he simply cannot continue as King in the North when he has bent the knee to you,” Tyrion replied.

“And yet I say he is.”

“What do you suppose they will say to that? Especially when they see that their so called King slinks into your chambers every night like a stable boy sneaking into the kitchens to steal some sweet breads,” Tyrion had snapped. “Won’t that fit nicely with their assumption that you’re a foreign whore come to steal their lands by any means necessary? That their King is now just a puppet to further your own gains?”

Her vision swam red for a moment. He dared to speak of her in such a way? In front of the rest of her council? She allowed a level of familiarity with those closest to her, but Tyrion had never overstepped the boundaries this far before. She looked over at Jon and saw the shock on his face, clearly not used to his personal life being discussed so flippantly.

Before she could reprimand Tyrion, Ser Davos had jumped in.

“Those are private matters that are of no concern to the Lords, or anyone else,” Davos insisted. 

“Private matters? Are you fool enough to think that what a Queen, or a _King_ , does in the dark of night is their business alone? This country has been at war for years now because of how _Queen_ Cersei spent her time in her chambers. I would have thought the Battle of the Blackwater was fresh enough in your mind to know what trouble some late night romps can cause. Have you forgotten, Ser? The Lords haven’t, I assure you.”

During the ensuing argument between the two Hands neither Daenerys or Jon said anything. They simply stared at each other across the long table. It was odd to hear yourself spoken about as if you weren’t in the room, but that did not stop Davos and Tyrion, who were arguing about everything from who would the armies follow in battle if the role of the King and Queen were not clearly defined, to alliances sealed in marriage and the promise of children. Wisely, everyone else at the table decided not to intervene as the two men’s voices raised higher and higher.

Although Jon was looking only at her he was very obviously listening. When Tyrion insisted an alliance sealed by marriage was the only way the Lords would accept Daenerys sharing his bed Jon looked as though he’d been slapped across the face. It was then that he exploded out of his seat and ended the meeting by ejecting them all.

With a heavy sigh he finally stopped pacing and turned to face her, still sitting calmly across the room.

“Well, for a day that started off so well it certainly went to shit rather quickly,” he said wearily. Daenerys nodded but remained silent as he strode towards her and took the seat to her right recently vacated by Tyrion.

He looked exhausted as he sank into the chair. Jon seemed to carry the weight of the world around on his shoulders at all times, and the stress of it showed across his face, from the frown that seemed to be frozen there from sun up until sun down most days, to his tired eyes that would frantically search for answers in one stack of maps or another. She shared the burden of the Long Night to come with him, but no amount of assurances that he wouldn’t be fighting alone seemed to ease him.

“We’ve left this alone too long haven’t we,” Jon asked, reaching over to take one of her hands into both of his own atop the table.

“It seems so. Tyrion has tried to discuss what’s been going on between us for awhile now. I’ve managed to avoid it,” Daenerys replied. “I suppose I’m as much to blame for his outburst as he is. Tyrion can only be ignored for so long.”

“It was easier that way with Ser Davos as well. I guess we both should have known better,” he said remorsefully. He was staring at her hand in his, tracing along her fingers with one of his own. Finally looking up to her face he continued,

“I can't offer you forever, Dany. No matter how much I want to.”

She tried to swallow the pain of her heart sinking down to her stomach. _This isn’t how it’s meant to be. It can't be_. She opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off before she could begin.

“Daenerys, I love you. More so than you can imagine. But I can’t ask you for forever when I know what’s out there coming for us,” he spoke with steady determination. His eyes were searching her face, trying to see if she was understanding what he was saying.

“I love you too, Jon. Why-”

“I know you do, Dany. And that's the problem,” he cut her off by saying. Seeing her confusion he tried to find a way to explain himself.

“If you love me and you swear yourself to me for all time, you’ll mean it. As would I-”

Now it was Daenerys who interrupted,

“That’s somehow a problem?” She wondered, an incredulous tone coming into her voice. She began to pull her hand away from his, but he wouldn't allow it to rereat.

“Yes, it is. You know what we have to fight out there. Somewhere not far enough away an army larger than the world has ever known is coming to try and kill us all. And they may very well succeed.”

She looked down to their still joined hands, trying to listen and not simply demand he stop being so fearful.

“Daenerys I know that we need you in this fight. You, your dragons, it might be the only real chance we have to kill the Night King. But there’s a part of me-” he was struggling to admit to something deep within him. She looked back to his brown eyes and waited for him to find his thoughts.

“There’s a part of me that wants you to run. If our army is overtaken, if it looks like we’ve lost, I want you to mount your dragon and fly as far away as you can. Find the end of the world and stay there,” Jon pleaded, his grip on her increasing as his words became desperate.

“You know I can't do that, Jon.”

“You can, but you won’t. That is what I know. Especially if I ask you for everything that I want.”

“And what is it you want?” Daenerys turned her hand over to lace her fingers with his as she spoke.

“This,” he stated, looking down to where their hands locked together, drawing her attention there as well. “Until the day I die. Have you ever seen a Godswood, Daenerys?”

“No. I’ve learned about them but never I've never seen one for myself.”

“I dream about the one in Winterfell sometimes, ever since I left Winterfell to join the Watch. It always feels so real,” Jon reminisced. “I have dreams of me and Robb as children, chasing each other through the trees or seeing who could climb up one fastest.”

Jon wore a sad smile as he spoke of his brother. She gave a small one in return. His pain from losing so many he loved was still fresh, but she was happy he had fond memories to look back on. Her own were never joyous in regards to Viserys.

“Sometimes my father is there. He would sit in front of the heart tree and polish his sword for hours thinking over some problem or another that he had to attend to,” he spoke softer this time. His eyes clouded over a bit, staring through their hands and looking into the past instead, lapsing into silence for a few beats before he shook off the memories and resumed,

“Now when I dream of the Godswood, it’s different. I’m not wandering through moments lone gone. I’m standing in front of the heart tree, and I can feel all of them there. Father, Rickon, Robb. They’re beside me even if I can’t see them," his words trailing off with his thought unfinished.

He hesitated before saying the next part. Jon couldn’t keep his gaze steady on hers, eyes shifting away to look at the paneling on the walls, their hands still intertwined, the top of her head, anywhere but directly at her.

“And….,” Daenerys tried to gently urge him to continue. This was maddening. He was proclaiming his love for her but was trying to deny her at the same time. She needed to know why.

“And you are walking towards me, come to stand before the Old Gods and ask for their blessing as husband and wife. And it’s the best dream I’ve ever had, Dany,” he finished.

“It sounds like a wonderful dream to me, as well,” she informed him. She couldn’t picture what his Godswood looked like, but it didn’t matter. Any dream where they were united in marriage was sure to contain more beauty than almost anything she could ever imagine.

“But then I wake up. And I remember Viserion falling through the sky. I see the dead surging towards you on Drogon. I see the Night King with a spear in his hands ready to kill you,” he says as he grips desperately at both her hands now. 

Suddenly he’s up out of his chair, standing and pulling her away from her seat and into a tight embrace in his arms. One hand is holding her head firmly to the crook of his neck, the other arm wrapped around her back seemingly trying to fuse their bodies into one.

“I can’t stand it, Dany,” he whispers into her hair. “I can’t ask you for forever if it means I may have to watch you die by his hand. I’d sooner let you go than risk it.” 

She can feel his kiss against her head, his lips a soft brush through her hair. Daenerys is silent a moment as her hands rub up and down his back, the muscles she has become so familiar with tense under her touch. Heart racing under his clothes, she can feel the tremor in his arms as his body clinches her tightly, even as he says he could let her go.

“Do you think it would be that simple, Jon?” Daenerys asks as she leans back, away from the cocoon he was sealing her in, but not enough to break their hold on one another.

“Do you think if no vows are said between us I would be able to simply fly away? From the war and our people? From you?” Daenerys blinks against the tears threatening to slip over.

Jon doesn’t respond, simply releases a shaky sigh as he stares down at her, so she continues,

“You don’t have to ask for that which I have already given freely. These are the only arms I choose to be in. Forever. The face I wish to look upon when I wake in the morning. Forever,” she proclaims, gripping his forearm then gently pinching his chin between her thumb and forefinger, her confidence building as she hears her own words spoken. There will be no tears shed today she decides, she will make him understand.

“You have my heart, Jon, whether you choose to hold on to it or not. I chose to give it to you, and I will never regret that, my love. No matter if I meet my end in this war or another, all I can concern myself with is how I live my life, and I choose to live with you by my side. I do so as your Queen, with you as my King, and I would happily do so as your wife.”

She tilts her chin up as her hand brings his down, to seal her words with a firm kiss to his soft lips. Jon’s embrace tightens once again, shuddering breaths as he returns her affections just as fiercely. 

When their lips break away Jon holds his forehead against hers a moment in a sign of acceptance of her words, his arms finally relaxing to let his hands lay gently on her backside. In this more familiar hold he finds his footing, the panicked thoughts ebbing away like the tide with every breath he takes, the sounds and scents of her replacing his darkest thoughts with a swirling warmth he has only ever felt when he is near her.

“Marry me for love, Dany. Nothing else. Not politics, or war, or anything the rest of the world is going to come up with. Just my love for you and yours for me,” he finally says, his words sounding as soft as silk now that the desperation has left him. When she looks into his eyes all Daenerys can see is hope. She wonders how often he has said these words in his head, and realizes she has longed to hear them long before today.

“I will, and I can think of no better reason why,” she assures him, a smile spreading across her face. “I love you as I have never loved another, Jon.”

Her smile must be contagious, as he now wears one to match. He leans in for more of her kisses, alternating long, slow tangles of their tongues with feathery pecks to her lips, her eyelids, her cheeks, anywhere he can find her smooth skin with his mouth. 

Jon finally breaks away long enough to set her back a pace, then seats himself on the tabletop. His hands guide her to turn and lean her back against his chest, his legs spreading to make space between them. She feels her hair being gathered and laid over her left shoulder, while his short beard scratches at her neck and cheek when he rests his chin over her right.

“My Queen, I have never loved another as I do you,” he murmurs near her ear, “and I’m sure to never love any other again, for as long as I live.” With his arms wrapped around her Daenerys is content to shut her eyes and revel in the warmth of his clutch. For a few minutes they snuggle against each other, her arm stroking his, his lips pressed to her neck from time to time.

“So, a wedding then,” Daenerys starts, knowing they cant stay in this silent heaven forever. “In your Godswood?”

“Are you alright with our vows being said before the Old Gods? I know you don’t believe in much of any God…”

She turns to face him once again, draping her arms over his shoulders, her fingers gliding through his hairline at the back of his neck, as she darts in to place a kiss at the tip of his nose.

“It will be fine. Better than fine. I want you to feel them with you, Jon. So many people have been lost to us both, if you can find your family in those woods then there is no where else we could possibly swear ourselves to one another.”

His smile was so disarming Daenerys barely heard his appreciative words that followed. _I want to see you smile this way all the time, Jon. One day soon our wars will be over, and as we build a better world you’ll find it easy to be this unguarded at all times, easy to be happy once again._ She kept her thoughts to herself, not wanting mention of battle to return him to the somber mood of earlier.

“Alright then. I suppose we should go make sure Tyrion and Davos haven’t resorted to hand to hand combat above deck."

Daenerys noted the chuckle he was trying to repress and rolled her eyes.

“Really, Jon? _Hand to Hand_ combat? It’s a damn good thing you’re so good looking, I don’t think our marriage would survive if you had to rely on humor,” she teased.

“You’re the second person today to imply I’m not very funny. I’m starting to feel insulted, my Queen,” he joked, wincing slightly when she tugged at the hairs wrapped around her finger. “Alright, enough jokes. We should speak with them, though. They can sort out the politics, gods know they’re both far more comfortable with it than I am. The Northmen will accept it all much easier if Tyrion finds the angle to hit them with, and Davos finds the words to help them swallow it down.” 

“Mmm, yes. But some rules as well. I never wish to hear them speak about either of us with such disregard again, especially in front of others. They can sort through the formalities and the implications of our marriage without being so disrespectful,” Daenerys insisted.

“Agreed,” he replied, standing once again to go and talk with their bristly advisors. “Lead the way, wife,” he said, arm held out toward the door inviting her to pass ahead of him, she never saw the playful swat to her butt coming.

She exited the room still laughing, plotting how to pay him back later. Jon’s voice echoed in her head. Hearing him say “wife” sent a tingle from her hair to her toes, and Daenerys was happy to realize she had a lifetime ahead to enjoy listening to him refer to her as such. 

Reaching over to clasp his hand, they smiled at one another and took their first steps toward a brighter future. Together. 

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End file.
